ending – Michael Seidel, writer

I’m still working on a novel. Finished one earlier this year and edit and revise it when free time gestures, do it. Meanwhile, I’m writing another. Thought I’d have it finished by September’s middle. Did. Not. Happen. I wrote an ending but it didn’t work. Yet it did work.

Why it didn’t work… Well, it wasn’t satisfying. None of the characters liked it. Especially the protagonist. You wouldn’t believe her reaction. The Writing Neurons were also pissed by the ending, and also let me know.

Hush, hush, I told them all. That was just the climax. Now I’ll write a denouement and all will be well. You’ll see.

Snorting, the Writing Neurons muttered, “Bullshit.” The Muses were more restrained, expressing their WTF doubts with a smirk.

Ignoring them, I pressed on. That’s when I realized why the ending did work. It did work because I had to get it out of me. It also worked because I saw that I was aiming toward the end of one story line, involving the main person, but there was a larger story line that needed an ending. I’d become so focused on my main person, I overlooked that other story line.

When I wrote that ending for the story, I killed one trending direction. Doing so freed the character to take over. Completely unaware of where I was going, like trying to find the bathroom in an unfamiliar, pitch-black house, every new paragraph was a challenge. I often rewrote paragraphs several times, trying to figure out what they meant. Is that how novel writing is supposed to go? I actually think so.

Now, I think I see the real ending. I don’t say that too loudly. Don’t want to piss off the protagonist, Muses, and Writing Neurons. It’s hard enough keeping them all in line and moving in the same direction. Like herding angry feral cats.

Got my coffee and a table. Got my ‘puter. Time to continue writing like crazy, at least one more time.

I wrote another ending to my novel in progress the other day. I think this one might stick. Man, what a glorious, exciting, invigorating, disturbing, worrying day that once after wrote it. I was so excited as I wrote that I began vibrating inside. I want to believe that it’s a good ending — hey, I do believe it is — but until others read it and judge it, I won’t know. Or rather, it’ll always be good to me, but may not be good to others. That’s how reading goes.

The novel isn’t done. I’d become semi-paralyzed by thinking over the ending. I kept rolling it through my head, coming up with possibilities, and then shooting them down for different, valid reasons. The one that finally landed was a surprise but feels right. I hope it holds together through the editing, revising, publishing process.

Meanwhile, to finish the novel, I need to go back and write the climax. Sounds funny but that’s how it worked in the case of this book. Several different arcs need pulled together; in writing the ending, I saw how the arcs should be handled. Now to wrangle the words and make it work.

Okay, back to writing like crazy.